Terrible Business
by CrystallicSky
Summary: When Chase Young moves into a new house, he ends up having an unexpected guest, one who by all accounts shouldn't be there... CHACK, ONESHOT; SEQUEL BY SILVARBELLE NOW UP
1. Chapter 1

**Terrible Business**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown, 'cause if I did, it'd be _way_ hard to follow; every time I'd get an idea, I'd write it in until it ended up like an animated version of Anthology of Love.**

**Warning(s):Homosexuality, murder/character death, mild language.**

Chase blankly inspected the aged mansion.

"Everything is to your liking, I hope?" questioned the equally-aged landlord.

The young man scoffed. "The wood is rotting, the curtains are mildewed, and everything is covered in dust."

"Well, you see, Mr. Young," the wrinkled man delegated, "this property has remained unwanted for a very long time, being so out of the way; it didn't make sense to waste money on upkeep if it wouldn't be earned back."

"Hm," Chase folded his arms over his chest, conceding, "very well. I'll purchase it." Seclusion from the human populous he had grown to hate was more important to him than the condition of the house itself.

"Oh, wonderful," old Mister Jennings smiled, "excellent! I'll go fetch the paperwork!"

As the elderly landlord shuffled off, the soon-to-be owner of this house wandered through the spacious parlor, past the old grandfather clock and particularly meandering over towards the tall, curling staircase.

The railing, it seemed, was badly splintered at a spot fairly close to the bottom, as if something heavy had crashed into it and broken it.

How odd…

The man dismissed it and waiting for Mr. Jennings to return.

--

The house, Chase supposed, wasn't all that bad when one got right down to it.

It was rich and elegant, if a decade or so outdated, and though only the dust situation was immediately remediable, it was surprisingly easy to get used to the smell of mildew and rot.

He had quickly picked out his favorite of the multitudes of rooms in the big, empty mansion and had begun to settle in.

He had chosen it for the queen-sized, black-sheeted bed, the fine chandelier on the ceiling, and the near wall-length window overlooking the breathtaking dark water of the lake adjacent the house, surrounded on the other three sides by forest.

Besides those highly desirable features, the walls were a warm, dark red, the hardwood floor unmarred with scratches or marks after all its years, and still working electricity, along with a television and a game-system or two, the majority of which Chase held no care for.

As badly as he'd wanted isolation (and in this secluded little area boxed in by so much nature and only Mr. Jennings within _miles_ of the place, he certainly had that), it had been a _long_ drive out here, and he was tired.

Most unlike his usual character, the man flopped gracelessly to the bed, closing his eyes and preparing for a well-deserved sleep…

"Who the hell are you, and why are you on my bed?"

Naturally, Chase immediately awoke, sitting bolt upright to face the stranger glaring at him in annoyance.

It was a young man, about fifteen, sixteen years old and dressed entirely in black.

He had skin as white as a ghost and ruby-red eyes, hair short and the color of flame, and he put his hands on his hips, frowning, "I'm waiting…"

The Chinese man found the youth rather easy on the eyes, but obviously did not voice this due to circumstance and instead demanded, "_Your_ bed? I believe you're mistaken, boy."

"Name's Jack," he huffed, "thank you very much; and yeah, _my_ bed, seeing as its _my_ room and all."

The elder male stood from the bed being argued about. "Clearly you're confused; I bought the whole _house_ this morning, meaning that all the rooms, including this one belong to me."

"Well, that's just plain impossible," Jack informed, " 'cause I've lived here for ten years."

Realizing that this was going nowhere quickly, as most arguments between immovable people do, Chase stopped, "Wait a minute: petty quarreling won't solve any of this. We're both rational people; I'm sure we can work this out."

The young man stared at him in consideration. "Alright, fine, I guess…"

--

"So, you see, I _was_ rightfully given ownership of this house."

"Well, I guess Mr. Jennings must have screwed up or something," the recently-named Jack Spicer shrugged, "because I've been living here for, like, _ever_. I can't imagine why he'd sell it to you when its technically still mine."

"Technically?" Chase inquired.

"Yeah, well, I guess it was in my dad's name, but since both he and my mom are dead, it should've gone to me."

"You're parents are deceased?" the man once more questioned, this time with a small measure of surprise.

"Uh-huh," the gothic boy nodded, entirely casual, "mom died of cancer when I was little, and dad killed himself, like, six years ago."

Not entirely sure what to say to this, Chase spoke, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Jack replied, "I've come to terms with it and all that jazz."

"So you've lived here by yourself for six years?"

"Yup," he nodded.

"Why? Why not live with other family? Why not get out of here and go to school or on dates like a normal teenager?"

"Well, why'd _you_ move _here_?" the youth shot right back, "I _like_ being alone. I don't really have other family anyways, and I graduated from college what feels like _forever_ ago, so I don't really see the point of making the effort to leave. I'm tied to this place: I really _can't_ leave."

"And dating?" Chase reminded.

Jack shifted in his seat on the bed. "Ehh..there've only ever been a couple of ladies that liked me, and I, uh…don't exactly like the ladies, if you know what I mean."

"You're gay, then?"

"Yeah," the teen admitted, looking uncertain, "you…you're _okay_ with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" the man questioned, "It's your life, and your place to decide which sex you find attractive."

"I guess I was just a little gun-shy from the last time I told someone that," Jack confessed, running a hand though his short hair as he sighed, "My dad went totally _bonkers_ when he found out."

"So, then, I assume you've never dated?"

"Afraid not," the goth spoke, sadness in his tone, "I never got the chance to really love somebody, 'cause of dad."

"That's a shame," Chase tsk-ed, "you're a fairly attractive boy."

The youth gaped at him for a moment. "You-"

"Bisexual," the elder supplied with a smirk.

"Oh…cool, well, in _that_ case, since you probably won't take it as an insult, you're sexy, too."

Chase gave an amused chuckled, "Thank you, Spicer."

--

As there was really no way to solve the issue of Jack, Chase not quite cruel enough to send an orphaned teenager, barely seventeen, out on his own, and the youth not selfish enough to demand the elder leave, a sort of compromise was agreed upon.

Jack could keep living there so long as he abided by Chase's rules, since the house technically belonged to him.

So far, it was working out rather well.

"No way," the goth laughed, "so then what'd you do?"

"I told him in no uncertain terms," Chase informed, "of just where he could shove that job, stapled his tie to the desk, and took the elevator out."

"Awesome," Jack decided, "pure, uncut, epic _awesome_."

"I choose to take that as a compliment," the man smirked.

"You know, Chase…I…like hanging out with you and stuff. I had…forgotten how cool it was to have other people around; I think I missed it."

The older man's smirk came as close to a real smile as it ever had. "I'm glad to hear that, Spicer. The whole reason I moved here was to avoid people; I'm sure you're aware of how foolish they can be. You are one of the smartest people I've ever met, and yet you still manage to be amicable, if you can understand that."

Red eyes stared at him blankly for a long moment, completely unreadable…and the very next second, Jack's lips were locked with his.

More out of shock than anything else, Chase pushed the youth away from him a bit, which caused the goth to abruptly realize what he'd done.

"Ohmigod," he gasped in horror, "I'm sorry, I-I-I didn't _mean_ to, I just-I…oh, god, I'm sorr-"

"Spicer," Chase growled sharply through the babbling, "it's alright."

"Alright?!" he squealed, "No it isn't! I friggin' _kissed_ you-"

"I didn't mind!"

This gave Jack pause. "Wha…what?"

"I didn't mind that you kissed me," the man spoke gently, moving his hand to a pale, white cheek, "you merely surprised me."

"Yeah…?"

"Yes. In fact, if you want to know, I rather enjoyed it."

The young man blinked up at Chase hope obvious in his eyes. "You wouldn't consider…I don't know…dating me, would you?"

The elder smirked. "Why not?"

--

Being thoroughly kissed on the downstairs sofa by his newly-declared boyfriend, Jack felt like purring, but instead settled for a quiet moan.

It had been just about a month since Chase had moved in, and a week or two since a romantic relationship had begun, and things were…getting serious.

The goth knew he was falling hard and fast. He didn't want to; if he weren't, he would have more _time_, but as it was…

He had to be quick about this.

"Chase," he whispered softly, "I…I think I love you…"

The man paused, pulling away from the youth. "Spicer, I-"

"Take me," Jack demanded, tone suggesting it was imperative that he obey, "now."

Golden eyes went wide at the sudden request, and he began to protest, "But-"

"Chase," the boy begged helplessly, "_please_, just…"

"Alright," Chase quietly agreed, pulling the albino off of the couch with him, "I will take you." It was sooner than he'd been planning, but if Jack really wanted him, he would grant the request.

Heading up the stairs to the bedroom, the elder man noticed Jack's hand on his throat, rubbing a bit as if it were sore.

"Are you well?" he asked, a bit concerned with the odd behavior in general and now this added point.

"M'fine," Jack assured softly, "it's just hard to breath on these stairs; don't worry about it."

The two continued towards the bedroom to make love for the first (and what would prove to be the last) time.

--

Chase awoke in the morning to find his lover gone.

On the bedside table were a note and a small piece of rope laid into a heart shape.

Plucking the small piece of paper from the nightstand, the man, with a sense of urgency, began to read it.

"Dear Chase,

Thank you. I want to say that first so I won't forget to, 'cause I really _am_ grateful. I can't tell you why or where I'm going, but I have to leave you. I don't _want_ to; if it were up to me, I'd stay with you forever, but I guess it's for the best this way. Maybe someday you can come with me, but for your sake, I hope 'someday' isn't too soon. Remember when I said I was tied here? That I couldn't leave? Well, I can't really explain that, either, but I want you to know that you set me free: you helped me love for the first time, and then last night after we…well, you said it back, and you meant it. I can't thank you enough for that because it wrapped up my unfinished business. I don't have to live in this house anymore; I don't _ever_ have to see those goddamn stairs I hate again (I broke my ankle on those bastards, you know). I can…move on, now, I guess. So, I think I'm trying to say that even though we won't be seeing each other anymore, well…I still love you, Chase Young, and I always will.

Love, Jack"

Chase was stunned.

In something of a daze, he got up and dressed on total autopilot, note still clenched tightly in his fist as he vaguely recognized how _strange_ it was to do such simple things without the presence of the goth he'd never asked for.

Going downstairs for breakfast (though he didn't truly feel very hungry at the moment), he stopped upon catching sight of the figure by the door.

"Mr. Jennings…?" he inquired, voice dull, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, well, I just thought I'd check up on you, sir," the old man smiled amiably, "its been about a month since you moved in, and I decided to stop by and see how you like it."

"The house is fine," Chase assured before falling silent. "…do you know anything of someone who used to live here? A Jack Spicer?"

"Ah," the elderly gentleman sighed remorsefully, removing his hat as if in respect, "yes, I recall that boy. He had so much potential; such a shame what happened to him…"

"…'happened'?"

"Yes," Mr. Jennings nodded sadly, "killed in a murder-suicide six years ago today, if I recall correctly. Seems his father found out he was one of them homosexuals and went crazy, tied a rope around his own boy's neck and pushed him off the second floor before putting a bullet in his head. Jack wasn't lucky enough to break his neck from the backlash of the drop and suffocated to death on those very stairs. Y'see," his wrinkled, old hand gestured to the break in the railing that Chase had noticed upon moving in, "he kicked that out in his death-throes; shattered his ankle, but didn't save him. Terrible business, that."

The landlord suddenly glanced to the grandfather clock, noticing the time, and he commented, "That's funny; you know, I believe he may have died at about 9:00 AM, too, now that I think about it."

Chase was practically frozen as memories of the past month with Jack flooded his head, helping his mind echo pieces of the note in the young man's own voice.

_"You helped me love for the first time."_

_"It wrapped up my unfinished business."_

**_"You set me free."_**

As the old grandfather clock finally struck the hour and chimed nine times, the small bit of paper slipped from Chase's hand and lightly hit the floor.

**A/N: Yeah, its a ghost-story; big whoop, wanna fight about it?**


	2. All We Ever Have is Now

**All We Ever Have is Now  
**

**By: Ch4ckSl4sher, (AKA Silvarbelle)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown.**

**Warning(s):Homosexuality, murder/character death, mild language.**

One year after Jack Spicer had left Chase behind on the mortal plane, Chase cooked a delicious meal. He set the table for two; filled both plates and both wine glasses. He lit the candles in the candelabra and took his seat, which faced the empty chair at the other end of the table.

He lifted his wine glass, gave a tiny smile and said, "To our one year anniversary, Jack."

He took a drink of wine and then consumed his lonely meal in silence as the food on the other end of the table sat untouched.

:-:-:-:

Five years after Jack Spicer had left Chase behind on the mortal plane, Chase sank down into an overstuffed armchair with a glass of scotch and a heavy sigh. In his other hand was a letter from his creditors. They were demanding payment and he had nothing to give them. His last round of paintings had done poorly and the gallery felt there was a better chance of selling artwork by other artists and had let him go from his contract with them.

Very, very soon, Chase was going to have to start selling off the heirloom pieces his mother had inherited and had then passed on to him.

He supposed it didn't matter, as he didn't plan to marry and produce children, but it still hurt.

He was startled by a noise in the den coming from the back of the house.

Immediately, he set aside his glass and the letter and took up a fire poker from the nearby fireplace and began stalking to the back of the house. He knew he was _supposed_ to call the local police in the event of hearing something suspicious, but he'd always been one to take care of his own problems. Plus, with his martial arts training, perhaps he could get the better of whoever was in the house.

Chase crept to the back of the house, his heart hammering in his chest. He waited outside the door to the den and heard scuffing and scraping noises. Gripping the doorknob, he counted to three, and then flung the door open and leaped in, swinging the fire poker.

There was no one inside.

He tried to fight down the hope rising in his heart. "Jack...?"

He took a step forward, heading for the lamp on the desk, and stepped on _something_ in the dark. Shocked, he let out a yell and leaped backward even as the thing he'd stepped on screamed bloody murder.

He swung wildly with the poker, shocked and outraged that something or someone had actually managed to trick him into thinking he was alone with a ghost. He lost the grip on his fire poker and heard it hit the wall with enough force to crack plaster and tear a chunk out of the wall. Snarling, cursing, he leaped forward and hit the switch on the lamp on the desk.

Light filled the room and Chase found himself in the den with a half-mad cat that had clearly been on the losing end of a fight and had squeezed itself inside through the barely open window in the room.

It was yowling, screaming, and racing around as it tried to figure out where to go. It bolted for the door, screamed and veered away, and crashed into the wall. It scrambled to its feet and raced around to get to the window.

For some odd reason, Chase found himself leaping for the window, slamming it shut so the cat couldn't escape.

Eventually, it huddled under the desk, bleeding from its wounds and growling menacingly, and Chase was staring at the damage the fire poker had done to his wall.

Specifically, he was staring at the pile of small papers slipping from the hole.

Carefully, he went to investigate. Crouching down, hesitant to touch, he managed to read the number of the stock bonds that had been hidden in the wall, and fell over in amazement.

By the time calls to the proper authorities had been made and all the paperwork checked out, Chase was the owner of millions of dollars in old stock that Thaddeus Spicer, Jack's grandfather, had squirreled away and never told anyone about. Because there were no more Spicers, the bonds reverted to whoever owned the house.

The cat was a stray that nobody knew or cared about, and that was how Chase came to be in possession of a slinky little white cat with a notched ear and a crooked tail. He bought it a red collar and named it Jack-kitty.

:-:-:-:

Ten years after Jack Spicer had left Chase alone on the mortal plane, the reclusive millionaire was watching the disintegration of yet another attempt at a relationship.

"I _refuse_ to put up with this shabby treatment!" the redheaded woman snapped, stuffing clothes into the bags she had piled on the bed.

"_What_ shabby treatment?" Chase snapped back, irritated and cranky. "I take you to fine restaurants, paid off your credit card debts, paid off your car, bought you a fur coat... what, precisely, are you objecting to?!"

"To being a body in bed while your _mind_ makes love to someone else!" she snarled hatefully. "To that... that _boy!_ Oh, don't give me that look, Chase Young! I know full well you're really seeing _him_ in your mind whenever you fuck me! That boy in the painting you made! The one you talk to every day, every night! It's filthy! Disgusting!"

"I don't—!"

"Oh, yes, you do! I've listened to you talk to the painting. Your voice is so warm and _there_ and loving, like it never is with me! There isn't enough money in the world to make me put up with taking second place to a dead faggot!"

Chase abruptly stood straight. Without saying a word, only narrowing his gold eyes a little, he exuded such an air of danger and malevolence that the woman froze in fear, making a tiny squeak of sound in her suddenly tight throat.

She knew that, even if she'd somehow changed her mind, that it didn't matter now. She'd gone too far. If she didn't leave voluntarily, he would physically _throw_ her out.

Hurriedly stuffing her clothes into the bags, she pulled on the fur coat and snatched up her car keys before picking up her bags. She gave him a hard look and growled, "If you try to ask for any of this back, I'll tell the whole town about you and your sick, perverted crush on a dead boy."

"I'll consider it money well spent if it means I never have to see you or hear you again," Chase growled.

Furious that he'd gotten in the last word, the redheaded woman stormed out of the bedroom and down the hall. She paused outside of his painting studio and eyed the door with loathing as she fantasized charging inside and destroying the portrait of Jack Spicer.

Abruptly, cold surrounded her there in the hallway. No, not just surrounded her – seemed to go _into_ her! It froze her breath in her lungs, froze her heart... froze her _soul_.

The horrific cold seemed to last a million years. Then, it was over, and she found herself running down the stairs, crying uncontrollably as she fled the house, never to return.

Chase stood at his bedroom window and watched his now very much ex-girlfriend as she sped away from his house. Then, with a sigh, he went down the hallway to the studio. Walking inside, he strolled over to the portrait of Jack that sat on one wall. He'd once been offered a lot of money for the portrait. The gallery owner who'd come to see other paintings had declared the odd-looking youth's portrait to be Chase's most evocative work ever; easily worth a few hundred-thousand dollars. He'd eventually had to resort to threatening to switch galleries if the man didn't stop nagging him to sell Jack's portrait.

Now, the gorgeous Chinese man stood before the painting and looked up into warm red eyes.

"I'd take you over her any day," he said softly. "I'd take you over anyone, Spicer."

There was no answer, of course. There was never any mysterious breeze or temperature change, no strange noises, no odd inner sense of just _knowing_ Jack was nearby and listening.

Jack-kitty's low cry out in the hallway caught Chase's attention. He gave a tiny smile and went to take care of his pet, which flatly refused to enter the studio under any circumstances.

:-:-:-:

Fifteen years after Jack Spicer left Chase alone on the mortal plane, Chase almost died when he fought like a madman to get into his burning house to rescue Jack's portrait.

He'd been out at a gallery gala to display his latest works (he'd become a popular artist once more), and had been driving home when he'd realized that the glow and the smoke in the distance could only mean one thing: His home was ablaze.

He'd screeched to a halt behind a fire truck, leaped out, and ran heedless toward the inferno – so quickly that the firefighters hadn't time to do more than cry out in shock and warning.

Inside, the heat scorched and blistered his skin instantly, while the smoke and the heat seared his lungs. He coughed and struggled to look where he was going, heedless of his long black hair catching on fire.

Before he could make it to the burning stairs, he was tackled by firefighters and dragged out of his house. He went out fighting; kicking and screaming at them to let him go, he had to save... he had to get—!

He was wrapped in a blanket and rolled, the fire eating his hair away extinguished, and then he was dragged over to a nearby police cruiser and tossed in the back.

"You damned fool idiot!" the cop climbing into the seat screamed at him. "What the hell were you thinking by going in there?!"

"Let me out!" Chase roared, clawing at the latch-less inside of the door. "Let me out! I have to go back! I have to save my—!"

"Your fucking cat's _fine!_" the officer shouted, racing down the driveway. He needed to get the burnt man to the ambulance and the EMTs waiting further down the road. "It hightailed it off into the fuckin' brush! Goddamned moron!"

Chase wanted to scream that it wasn't Jack-_kitty_ he was worried about; it was _Jack_. His seared lungs refused to cooperate and he broke down into desperate coughs.

He had vague recollections of being hauled out of the police car and bundled into the ambulance for transport to the hospital. He barely remembered talking with doctors; giving his vital information and answering questions.

When it was all over, his hair was cut to just above his shoulders, his skin had that painfully tight plastic look from being flash-baked by the heat, and his house had been completely destroyed – including Jack's portrait.

He was staring in agonized despair at the charred mess that was his house as the chief arson inspector came over to talk to him while an arson team investigated the remains of the house.

"As soon as we have all the details, we'll get back to you, Mr. Young," the woman was saying in a calm voice. "Security camera footage plus seventy or so eyewitnesses place you at the gallery, but I would still like to know where I can reach you if I have questions."

It took him a moment to answer, but eventually he said he'd be staying in town at the hotel. He gave the woman his cellphone number and other information.

Then, just before she left, they were interrupted by a piteous cry.

Chase turned and saw Jack-kitty creeping hesitantly from the water-logged bushes. The white-fur was sooty and bedraggled, but the little feline was looking to his human for help and reassurance.

Chase scooped the cat up and cuddled it to his chest. Jack-kitty purred hard around his throaty little meows, curling up against his human.

The chief arson inspector felt herself melt a little, seeing the lovely Chinese man so desperately glad to find his cat safe and sound. She left him alone so he could have his reunion in peace.

"It's gone," Chase whispered quietly. "His painting is gone."

Jack-kitty purred harder as Chase dampened his dirty fur with silent tears.

:-:-:-:

Twenty years after Jack Spicer left Chase alone on the mortal plane, the mansion had been rebuilt. The overall design of the house had stayed, but the style had been updated. Chase had tried to recreate Jack's portrait exactly, but every attempt had ended in the destruction of the canvas as the frustrated artist had lashed out in disappointment with the results.

Finally, Chase had let his muse have his way, and a _new_ portrait had emerged. It was still Jack, but this was a happier looking young man than the previous painting. Chase would look at it, smile, and hope that Jack really was that content wherever he was.

Not long after the house had been rebuilt, Jack-kitty gave in to old age. Chase had him cremated and his ashes scattered in the flower garden out front, behind the ferns where he'd enjoyed napping the most.

Chase, with his hair grown past his shoulders and now liberally threaded with gray, refused all suggestions to get himself another cat and contented himself with his work and his memories.

:-:-:-:

Twenty-five years after Jack Spicer left Chase alone on the mortal plane, Chase felt odd as he found himself standing on the side of a road, staring at a mangled wreck of metal.

It took him a few moments to realize it was his own car he was staring at.

It took him a few moments more to remember he'd been driving it only minutes earlier.

He felt strangely cold and even more strangely detached from his surroundings. He never really heard or saw the driver of the semi-truck standing nearby, screaming into his cellphone to send help; that a guy had pulled out in front of him on a blind curve, oh _God_, somebody, _help!_

"What is going _on_ here?" Chase muttered, confused.

"Oh, nothing much. You're just dead, is all."

Chase went rigid as a voice he'd not fully remembered in a long time spoke behind him. He whirled and found himself staring at Jack Spicer, who looked as young and fresh and beautiful as he had the last time Chase had seen him.

Red eyes glittered with warmth and amusement as Jack waved. "Hey, Chase."

"Jack...?"

A nod of the head with its mop of sunset-red hair. "It's me."

"_Jack_...?" Chase gasped, feeling himself tremble.

The white-skinned youth took a step forward. "It's a good thing dead people can't have strokes, or I'd be worrying about you right now."

Chase blinked. "_Dead?_"

Jack reached out to touch him; curled his hand around one of Chase's arms and then gestured to the wreck behind the Chinese man.

Chase turned, and he stumbled in shock as he now saw the crying, distraught truck driver staring mournfully at the wreck of the Mercedes-Benz that Chase had been driving. Looking past the driver, he could see the demolished driver's side door and the slumped figure in the front of the car. In the distance, he could hear the frantic wails of sirens drawing closer.

"Oh," he said, and turned to look at Jack.

Jack smiled at him sympathetically. "It was quick. Real quick. You never felt a thing, right?"

"Not... no. I didn't. One minute I was _there_—" Chase pointed to the car, "and the next minute I'm _here_." He paused, and then a tiny smile started on his face. "With you."

Something pressed against his lower legs and Chase glanced down. His eyes blinked in surprise. "Jack-kitty!"

He bent and scooped up the phantom cat, which purred and nuzzled against him.

Jack grinned. "He's been keeping me company while we waited for you."

Chase's smile grew wider. "You did?"

Jack nodded and tucked himself closer against Chase. "We did. _I_ did. I never stopped loving you, y'know."

"I'm so glad," Chase murmured, and he freed one arm to curl it around Jack. He pulled his young lover close and gently, tenderly, kissed the one person whom he'd always longed to be with.

When the kiss ended on a smile for both of them, Chase asked, "Were you ever there? Did you haunt me?"

"Only a couple of times, but I really was trying to keep away. I didn't want to intrude on your chance to live, and you wouldn't have if you'd completely tied yourself to a ghost. You had a pretty good life, right?" Jack said, smirking up at the older ghost.

"I had a great life," Chase replied. "But I believe I'm about to have an even greater _after_life."

"Corny," Jack snorted, laughing a little. He snuggled against his lover. "Man, I missed you."

"Not half as much as I missed you."

The emergency crews arrived on the scene. Police officers pulled the distraught truck driver away from the wreck while firefighters began cutting at the car to get to the body inside.

"I hope like mad they can't revive me," Chase whispered, staring at the frenzied workers.

"Be kind of difficult with half your head caved in, with shards of metal and glass crammed into what's left," Jack opined.

Chase winced. "Ahah. Yes. I do believe I'm done for."

Jack laughed. "Ready to shuffle off this mortal coil, big guy?"

Chase kissed his pretty young lover again. "More than ready."

No one noticed as the three ghostly figures faded away into nothingness, leaving behind only a phantom feline purr that no one heard over the human shouts and radios squawking.

**A/N: This is another sequel to one of my works (the first being the sequel to Rough Waters) written by the amazing Silvarbelle, this time with no input from me whatsoever other than writing Terrible Business in the first place; I've decided to post it up here so that my Fanfiction readers can enjoy it as well as the deviantART ones. :)  
**


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